


Give Me My Sin Again

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [20]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Phrack, Established Relationship, F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Phryne wakes in Jack's bed, realizing that her favorite sins are different from his. Surely, she can tempt him into sinning along with her? (Spoiler: She totally can. His sin preferences aren't nearly as different as she thinks.)





	Give Me My Sin Again

**Author's Note:**

> It's Phrack fucking Friday, y'all! Happy happy day!

Phryne woke slowly, as was her habit. She stretched, enjoying the feel of the sheets against her bare skin; they weren’t the silk ones that adorned her bed, but they were soft and clean. Breathing deeply, she smiled at the combined scents of herself and Jack that clung to the bedding. Her eyes still closed, she reached out an arm, searching for him, but found his side of the bed cool to the touch. Groggy, she lifted her head, her eyelids heavy as she blinked them open.

The room was dim, shafts of sunlight sneaking in around the curtains the only indication of the lateness of the hour. Phryne propped herself on her elbows. It was Sunday. Why on earth would Jack be up when he could stay in bed all day? _Oh yes,_ she grinned, _because he’s Jack, and sloth is not his sin._ He was more of a gluttony or lust sort. On that thought, her stomach growled. Apparently, it was time for some gluttony of her own.

Shifting out of bed, she padded across the floor, comfortable in her nudity, to the bath. Once she’d taken care of her morning needs, she lifted the silk robe from the hook on the back of the door and made her way into the kitchen. 

Jack’s home was small and neat, its central hallway free of clutter, its walls adorned with photos. Phryne touched one family portrait, young Jack standing stiffly beside his parents and sister. _So serious_ , she thought, as she often did. When Phryne turned into the kitchen doorway, still tying her robe, it was to find the room empty. He’d left her some toast, though, standing in the rack on the table, the butter in a covered dish beside it. Taking a slice of toast with a small hum of approval, Phryne scraped butter along its top then made her way to stand over the sink and peer out the window into Jack’s garden. 

Her inspector knelt among his flowers, sleeves rolled up, his hands busy in the soil; she could hear his soft whistle as he worked, and Phryne grinned as she recognized the notes of a less-than-normally-frantic version of “I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major-General.” The day was warm and sunny, and she could see the tanned column of Jack’s throat at the open collar of his shirt; his powerful thighs pressed tightly against the rough canvas of his gardening trousers. A soft surge of pride rose in her chest—to think this man, this honorable, honest, traditional man—had chosen to take his chances with her. She’d never admit it aloud, but she felt privileged to enter a room on his arm, thankful that he shared her bed rather than that of another, more traditional woman.

Turning for another slice of toast, she prepared it and went back to watching him, one arm wrapped around her waist as she munched, her mind busy with imagining what she might do if he didn’t have neighbors who could see. She wanted to see the sun on his skin, feel the warmth of it baking his muscles; as she contemplated ravishing him in sunlight—she’d be on top, her silk robe open and flowing off her bent arms as she rose and fell upon him—her body loosened and dampened. 

She’d thought earlier that sloth was her favorite sin, but lust certainly had much to recommend it. As she watched, Jack looked up and saw her. His face brightened, then his smile turned sly—either he’d been thinking the same things, or he could see her thoughts writ large across her face.

Raising one hand, she curled an index finger at him, beckoning him to her. He sat up, his hands resting on his thighs, and tilted his head at her. Phryne lifted her chin, placing a hand on her neck and sliding it down her chest and under the lapel of her robe. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed—she hoped that he was imagining her hand on her breast, her nipple poking hard between her fingers. She bit her lip as she pinched that turgid flesh, her eyes never leaving his; with a shake of his head, Jack surged to his feet, striding toward the house.

Anticipation roaring through her, Phryne moved back to the table, quickly moving the toast and butter to the sideboard before returning to stand facing the garden door. The Jack who appeared in the doorway gave the impression of an intensity that was almost angry; his features darkened with a wrathful desire that was echoed in the jut of his cock against his trousers. He dropped the towel he’d used to wipe his hands, and it fell silently to the threshold. His hands rested on either side of the doorway, and his slim body seemed larger as he paused to take in her stance. 

Before he could move toward her, Phryne met him there, her hands pressing against his chest. 

“Don’t move, Jack,” she whispered, her mouth a breath from his. “I want to start right… here.” Her eyes on his, she slid her hands down his chest to his waist, stroking the hills and valleys of his chest before resting at his trouser fastenings.

“Phryne…” Jack’s tone was dangerous, and she felt his stomach tense against the backs of her fingers.

“Shhh,” she breathed, as she unbuttoned him, her hands pushing gently inside to find his skin.

Jack hissed as she wrapped her fingers around him, as she pulled one hand from his base to his crown, as she used the other to play with the rounded fullness of his testicles. Phryne laid a soft kiss against his mouth, her hands continuing to work his hardened flesh.

“Feel the sun against your back, Jack?” Her question was little more than air, but she saw his eyes flutter shut. His lips opened slightly, and she brushed her mouth against his. “The breeze cool against your skin?” Her teeth grasped his lower lip, and he let out a low moan. 

As he stood there, his arms wide and head drooping, Phryne released his lip and tilted her head to trail her lips across his jaw and down his neck, its tendons tight with the iron grip of his control. Cat-like, she licked out softly, taking in the salty-sweet taste of his skin, her hands pumping up and down his cock inside his trousers. The skin between his legs was surprisingly smooth, his hair crinkly against her palms. Thinking of the feel of his cock on her tongue, she swept a thumb over his mushroom-shaped head at the same moment that she licked him again.

With a muttered curse, he broke. His hands came down from the doorframe to cup her head, lifting her face and kissing her with a greed that made the desire simmering in her belly burst into flames. She closed her eyes, the better to appreciate the taste of him as she gorged on his passion, feeding from his lips as if she could never get enough of him. 

He dropped one hand from her jaw, stroking it down her neck and into her robe, his big hand covering her breast entirely; she shivered at the sensation of his palm against the hard point of her nipple. Her fingers squeezed his cock lightly, loving the feel of the satin-covered-steel length of him; a drop of hot liquid touched the side of her hand, and she swept her thumb over it, lubricating her motions as his hips surged helplessly against her. She wished for an instant that her mouth was free so that she could drop to her knees and take him into her mouth; she coveted the taste of that droplet against her tongue. 

As if he read her mind, Jack lifted his head to take a long, juddering breath. But before she could put her thought into action, he stepped forward, the motion of his hips pushing her backward until her bottom brushed the edge of the table. His hand on her breast continued down her body, catching momentarily on the tie of her robe before maneuvering around it to cup her between her legs. Phryne gasped as his fingers slid into the wetness between her thighs to find her clit, circling it gently as his mouth came back to hers.

Sliding her hands out of his trousers, she pushed them down around his bum, letting his cock fall out, before raising her hands to push the collar of her robe open. Phryne panted as Jack’s fingers began a slow penetration of her sex, and she shrugged her shoulders, pulling first one arm, then the other out of her robe to leave it dangling behind her, only the silk belt attaching it to her body. Bare from the waist up, she started in on his clothing, grateful that he was only wearing the one layer. She pressed her nose to his chest, breathing in the scent of sun and green growing things that lingered from his time in the garden, her tongue sliding out to lick the indentation at the base of his neck.

Jack groaned at the sensation and shifted his stance, aligning his hips with hers. Without a word, he settled his cock at her entrance and pressed himself into her; moaning, Phryne caught handfuls of his shirt to push it up his chest, wanting unfettered access to his skin. When he pulled it off with another soft curse, she grasped his hips and leaned back to lie against the table top as she felt him push in all the way to his base. 

Jack tossed his shirt aside and his hands returned to her, sliding up her torso to cover her breasts as he slipped out again, then pushed forward. Phryne arched into his fingers, the roughness of his calloused skin against her nipples a delightful counterpoint to the slickly smooth movement between her legs. She lifted her knees, resting her calves on his buttocks as his strokes became stronger and more purposeful.

“Jack,” she gasped, watching his face darken with arousal, his tongue touching his lower lip and his eyes flicking between his hands on her breasts and his cock spearing into her body. He was beautiful this way—his lust pulling wrathfully on the chains of his control, his focus on bringing her to her peak. “My Jack.”

At her words, his eyes met hers, heat and tenderness blazing in them, along with an obvious pride that he was bringing her pleasure. He watched her as he ground his hips against hers, and she felt the pressure against her clit arrow back up toward her nipples. Her back arched, her mouth opening helplessly in pleasure, and he slid out and did it again. And again. And again, until he had reached a rhythm that had her whimpering.

With a groan, Phryne slid her hands up his arms to grab at the back of his shoulders and pull herself toward him. He spread his hands on her lower back, bracing her; she cupped a hand behind his neck and kissed him, her tongue wild against his. She felt his fingers clutching at her hips, and then she was moving—or he was moving her—it didn’t seem to matter. Jack shuffled a few steps to one side and then sat in one of his high-backed kitchen chairs without withdrawing from her body. Phryne raised her head.

“Need a rest, Jack?” she teased. He was panting, his chest rising and falling against hers. His hair was mussed, that single curl falling over his forehead, and he still wore his trousers and garden boots. He looked as if he’d been lustfully compromised, and it was one of the ways she liked him best.

“Just a small one, Miss Fisher,” he responded, his smile wry. “Bending over my garden beds for so long strained my back.” He stroked his hands up her spine, dipping his head a little to rub his chin against her nipple. “I’m sure you can take over for a little while.” Holding her eyes, he leaned in and took her nipple into his mouth; she could feel his tongue sliding wetly along her aroused flesh, and she moaned her approval.

“Are you saying that it’s my turn... to do some work?” The words fell out of her on a gasp; she was having trouble maintaining her end of their banter with her mind occupied by the sensations he was creating in her body. She set her heels onto the rungs of the chair and swiveled her hips, feeling his cock deep inside her and the soft pressure of his pelvis against hers.

In answer, Jack hummed against her nipple, and the sensation made Phryne jerk. With a soft curse, she wrapped her fingers into the chair’s ladder back and rose over him. Jack’s hands fell to her hips, untying her robe and pushing it to the floor as she slid down again. He turned his head, moving to cover her other breast with his mouth, his busy tongue and the edge of his teeth narrowing her focus to the two points where they were joined. 

Phryne let her head fall back, her eyes closing and her attention fully on the sensations rocketing through her body. Her thighs tightened and her stomach clenched, and she reveled in the marvelous slide of Jack’s cock against her sensitive tissues. She kept her pace slow, loving the drag of his skin against hers; each time she sank down on him, she rotated her hips again, feeling the friction against her clit. The small noises he made delighted her, each low moan vibrating against her, each gasp of breath and the accompanying clench of his fingers adding to the growing mountain of pleasure.

“Phryne,” he groaned against her skin, her name in his deep voice reverberating through her body.

Phryne lifted her head and opened her eyes to watch him as he came. She could feel the jerking of his cock within her in long, slow pulses, and the heat of his release seemed to spread through her body. His eyes were closed, and he breathed in deep gasps, his mouth open around her breast and his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her bottom, pulling her hard into him. She felt him deep inside, felt the jolting of his hips as his pleasure overtook him, felt the scrape of his teeth against the soft flesh of her breast.

“Jack!” His name was a broken thing on her lips as her own climax rolled over her, slow and fierce as the tide. She wrapped her arms around him and held on, burying her head in his neck as the orgasm rippled through her body. Inhaling his scent greedily, clean sweat and fresh air and sex, she felt his lips press warmly against her shoulder as his hands stroked up her back. 

Her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin, she snuggled closer, her muscles lax with release. Warm sunlight caressed her back, and Jack’s hands continued their smooth strokes. 

Eyes heavy, Phryne slid a hand up the back of his neck, her fingers spearing into his hair.

“You do realize,” he said, laughter threading his voice, “that the garden door is open.”

“Mmmm,” she replied. “Your garden is very private, but if anyone sees, we’ll be the envy of the neighborhood.”

“My neighbors are much more likely to envy a garden decoration than the pleasures of the flesh, Miss Fisher. They would be scandalized by what we do here.” His words were dry, but he didn’t move to set her aside.

“Nonsense, Jack,” she murmured, “just because they’re older doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young.” She stretched against him, her mouth moving against his neck, her hips shifting against his. “Why, I’d bet they have some scandalous stories to tell.” Lifting her head, she brushed his lips with hers before settling in to kiss him. His hands clenched on her, and she could feel his cock, still inside her, beginning to harden.

“Do let me know if you manage to get them to tell any,” he said when they broke apart, their breaths coming quickly.

“Why, Jack,” she panted, sliding one hand between them to circle his cock, not yet completely hard, but recovering quickly. “Looking for pointers?”

“No,” he shot back, pushing forward to the edge of the chair, his arms wrapping around her. “Just making sure I’ll know who to avoid in future.” Her laugh pealed through the empty kitchen and out into the sunshine of his back garden.

With a small grunt of effort, he stood again, Phryne clinging to him like a limpet. Reaching out one long arm, he swung the door closed, then headed out of the kitchen toward the bedroom, his usual long strides hampered by the fact that his trousers were bunched around his ankles.

“Why Jack, wherever are we going?” Phryne kissed his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing against her lips and his hands clenching on her bottom.

“To bed, Miss Fisher,” he responded, “where I can ravish you again.”

She laughed silently, her tongue sneaking out to taste his skin again, comparing its flavor now that his sweat was mingled with hers. “Abed in the daytime? That seems positively sinful, inspector.”

“ _Give me my sin again_ ,” he murmured, his smiling mouth covering hers, his tongue sliding strongly between her lips.

Phryne accepted the kiss with pleasure, loving the way his steps jostled him against her, and wanting nothing more than to go back to bed and be ravished again and again by this man. Let the neighbors be envious. She would wallow in every sin her lover was willing to share, then ask for more. It was a good thing that Jack Robinson was such a dependable man.


End file.
